Page 10 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

C amden sat back against the worn velvet seat of the carriage, one gloved hand braced on the window frame as the vehicle jostled along the narrow country lanes.

The sky had dimmed to a moody gray, as if it too resented the weight of the day.

Outside, wheels splashed through muddy ruts, and the countryside rolled past in hushed tones of damp green and misty brown.

They passed familiar sights: the neglected stable roof that sagged further each week, the once-proud hunting lodge overtaken by ivy, and the cracked stone wall that lined the drive but no longer kept anything in or out.

Haverton was still beautiful in its bones, but it bore the signs of a legacy left to wither. Much like Helena, he thought bitterly.

At the manor steps, a footman greeted him with a stack of unopened letters.

Camden waved him off, brushing past the accounts and estate matters he didn’t yet have the energy to face.

He had spent six full months trying to untangle his brother’s chaos, and it still felt like bailing water with a thimble.

Inside, small transformations were slowly taking place.

The floor seemed a little more polished than it had before.

It was a start. He climbed the stairs, noting that there was a bit more shine to the banister.

The familiar crack of billiard balls echoed from a room down the hall.

Camden stepped inside to find Lord Kensington, ever at ease, lining up a shot with practiced flair.

“Back in one piece?” Kensington asked, sending a red ball into the corner pocket.

Camden grunted in reply, removing his gloves. “Barely.” He crossed to the rack, selected a cue, and took his place at the table.

He lined up a shot, sinking the ball cleanly into the corner. The sharp clack of the cue ball echoed through the silence.

The crack of the balls echoed again, far too cheerful for his current mood. He leaned over the table, lining up his next shot. The red ball clattered into the corner pocket, but the small victory brought him no satisfaction.

Lord Kensington twirled his cue stick with lazy finesse. “Nice shot,” he said. “But you’re distracted.”

Camden didn’t look up as he moved to line up the next ball. “I’ve had a long morning.”

“Ah yes,” Kensington drawled. “The infamous visit to Greenbrook Academy. I trust it was all you hoped for?”

Camden gave a humorless snort. “Hardly.”

Kensington set up his shot, expression far too amused. “Do tell. I’ve been dying to hear how the esteemed Miss Langford received you.”

Camden gave a humorless snort. “She was composed.”

Kensington raised a brow. “Composed. That’s a dangerous word.”

“She was polite, professional, and entirely confident. She made it very clear she didn’t need my opinion, and she made it clear that she had everything under control without my involvement.”

“Sounds like she has a good handle on things. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted her to help Helena. I didn’t expect to feel so unnecessary in the process.”

Kensington leaned against the table. “You? Unnecessary? Don’t be absurd. You’re the Marquess of Camden. That word doesn’t even apply to you.”

Camden shrugged and took his next shot. When it bounced off the side without going into the pocket, he rolled his eyes. Camden gripped the cue stick, staring at the scattered balls. “It’s not about the title. It’s about Helena.”

Kensington took his shot with ease. “Did she offend your pride?”

Camden exhaled. “No. Not exactly. But Helena barely spoke the whole time, and Miss Langford treated that as normal. Like she’s handled dozens of girls like her.”

“Maybe she has.”

“That’s the problem,” Camden said, voice low. “Helena isn’t like other girls. She’s lost everyone. And she’s not rebellious—she’s shut down. You saw her before. She hardly says a word to anyone.”

“Sounds like Miss Langford handled that with care.”

Camden frowned. “She did. But it still felt like I was being pushed to the edges. Like Helena’s healing no longer has anything to do with me.”

Kensington stepped around the table, considering. “It’s not that you don’t trust Miss Langford. You just hate that she might succeed where you’ve failed.”

Camden didn’t answer.

“That’s not criticism,” Kensington added. “Just observation. You care deeply. That’s what makes this so hard.”

“Yes,” Camden said slowly. “She gives Helena space. And watching someone else do something so calmly, without worry makes it feel like I’ve already failed.”

“You haven’t failed,” Kensington said. “You’ve chosen someone who might be able to reach her in a way you can’t. That isn’t failure. That’s stewardship.”

Camden leaned on the cue stick. “I want to be the one she leans on. But every time I try, it’s like there’s a wall between us.” Camden rubbed his jaw. “She shuts me out every time I try. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t fix it,” Kensington said. “You give her time. And space. And people who know how to help.”

There was a pause as Camden chalked his cue.

“And Miss Langford?” Kensington prompted.

Camden frowned. “Like I said before, she’s infuriatingly calm. I thought she’d acknowledge Helena might be a challenge, but she acted like she’s handled a hundred girls just like her.”

“You don’t like how confident Miss Langford is,” Kensington said. “Because it makes you feel like she’s brushing off your concerns. So it’s not that Miss Langford is incapable—it’s that she doesn’t quite understand the magnitude of the task you’ve given her. Or at least, that’s what you think.”

Camden frowned, his frustration growing. "I know I should be relieved that she’s confident. But instead, it feels like she’s dismissed my concerns altogether."

Kensington leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, you want her to struggle a little, just to prove that she understands how difficult Helena can be?"

Camden shot him a glare. "That’s not what I said."

"No, but it’s what you meant," Kensington said, his grin widening. "You don’t like the fact that she’s so in control, do you? Makes you feel like you’re losing control."

Camden rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply. "It’s not about control. It’s about wanting to be sure Helena will be all right. I don’t want her to fail. I just want to know she understands what she’s dealing with.”

Kensington studied him a moment. “Maybe she does. Maybe she’s just better at hiding her doubts than you are.”

Camden didn’t reply.

“Look,” Kensington said, clapping him on the back. “Let her do her job. You’ve got enough to deal with—debts, repairs, three useless stewards, and a house half a generation behind in bookkeeping—shall I go on?”

Camden cracked a half-smile. “Please don’t.” Camden sighed and leaned on the cue stick. “And Helena’s angry at me. I could feel it the whole time we were in the carriage.”

“She’s grieving, Camden. Grief and anger wear similar masks. That anger has to go somewhere.”

Camden didn’t respond right away. He stared at the table, the green felt blurring in his vision.

Kensington’s voice softened. “You can’t be everything at once. Not yet. Let the headmistress help. She’s not trying to replace you. She’s trying to create a place where Helena might heal.”

Camden closed his eyes. “I just wish I knew how to help her myself.”

“You’re helping,” Kensington said. “You took her there. You’re paying for her care. It’s what you can do. Let it be enough.”

Camden gave a slow nod. The knot of guilt remained, but there was nothing to be done. Not tonight.

“Come now,” Kensington said, straightening. “You might still beat me at this game. Stranger things have happened.”

Camden cracked a wry smile. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Then at least enjoy the attempt.” Kensington lined up another shot. “Take the small victories. Helena is in a place where someone’s paying attention. And if Miss Langford is half as composed as you say, she may surprise you yet.”

Camden watched the ball tumble into the pocket. “She already has.” Camden lined up another shot, the rhythm of the game settling over him like a worn coat. He took the shot, the ball tumbling neatly into the pocket. But his thoughts remained fixed not on victory, nor on estate matters.

They were still back at Greenbrook.

With a girl who barely looked up.

And with the woman who saw everything anyway.